My boyfriend's father was an abusive prick to him when he was a child; he beat him with extension cords with the plug end striking his skin, to the point where are are scars all over his back, the backs of his arms and legs, his ass....it's horrific. I've met the piece of shiat a few times, and to say he's a piece of shiat is really an insult to feces. We go up to New York over the holidays to visit his family, and we avoid him like the plague, as much as we can.

When his father dies, rather than go to the funeral, we're going to have a nice dinner at home, crack open a bottle of bubbly, and toast to the end of his nightmares, and the beginning of the rest of his life full of decent nights' sleep. I want that more than anything. He'll wake up some nights screaming, shaking in a cold sweat, and there's not a farking thing I can do to help him. I hate feeling that way. He's been to doctors, been on medication (though he loathes taking medication of any kind, even Advil), and none of it has helped. I truly believe that diseased taint finally kicking the bucket is what needs to happen, if only to act as an exorcism of some kind. Adam (that's my boyfriend) is 42 years old...if he's got another 50 years in him let's say, I don't want to spend a total of 63 years (we've been together 13) listening to him crying at night. I would never leave him, but he deserves peace at some point.

/end CSS//thanks for reading///if you abuse your children, do the world a favor and farking kill yourself, you sorry excuse for humanity

My mother chickened out of my (illegal) abortion. My father beat her up for not going through with it. My relationships with them didn't really go uphill from there. However, I was luckier than my sister. At 51, I can still vividly see the image of my sister's back covered in welts. I tried gently putting moisturizer on it, then pressure, then butter (hell, I didn't know what I was doing, and I certainly wasn't going to ask them), and eventually found that ice cubes seemed to reduce the pain a little. It was 42 years ago, and believe me, my sister remembers it much more vividly than me; I'm the one they hated less. When people find out that we've been estranged from our parents for almost 30 years, they occasionally make statements such as, "well, you always have to love and/or forgive your parents." No, not really. The grim nostalgia that we share is that we are each others' only witness.

Can I thank you for that story? It helps me to know that a damaged person can find someone who gets it, or even if they don't really get it, understands that there's something to get.

You may. He's such a warm, loving, kind man.......he broke that cycle of abuse for himself by not turning out like him. We don't have/want children, but I'd never fear he'd be like his father....it's just not in him. My father has been a better father-figure to him in 13 years than his own piece of shiat sperm donor has been in 42. In fact, he's said my father is one of the best men he knows. I never had the kind of childhood he did, so I can't relate to his suffering, but the most I can do is hold his hand and tell him I'm never leaving.

My boyfriend's father was an abusive prick to him when he was a child; he beat him with extension cords with the plug end striking his skin, to the point where are are scars all over his back, the backs of his arms and legs, his ass....it's horrific. I've met the piece of shiat a few times, and to say he's a piece of shiat is really an insult to feces. We go up to New York over the holidays to visit his family, and we avoid him like the plague, as much as we can.

When his father dies, rather than go to the funeral, we're going to have a nice dinner at home, crack open a bottle of bubbly, and toast to the end of his nightmares, and the beginning of the rest of his life full of decent nights' sleep. I want that more than anything. He'll wake up some nights screaming, shaking in a cold sweat, and there's not a farking thing I can do to help him. I hate feeling that way. He's been to doctors, been on medication (though he loathes taking medication of any kind, even Advil), and none of it has helped. I truly believe that diseased taint finally kicking the bucket is what needs to happen, if only to act as an exorcism of some kind. Adam (that's my boyfriend) is 42 years old...if he's got another 50 years in him let's say, I don't want to spend a total of 63 years (we've been together 13) listening to him crying at night. I would never leave him, but he deserves peace at some point.

/end CSS//thanks for reading///if you abuse your children, do the world a favor and farking kill yourself, you sorry excuse for humanity

Damn. Hope he finds peace. At least you're there for him, and that alone, is pretty impressive.

I've been told by more than a few people over the course of our relationship that he's too damaged, that I deserve someone more put together, but those people can go to hell. I love him. It's as simple as that in my mind.

My mother chickened out of my (illegal) abortion. My father beat her up for not going through with it. My relationships with them didn't really go uphill from there. However, I was luckier than my sister. At 51, I can still vividly see the image of my sister's back covered in welts. I tried gently putting moisturizer on it, then pressure, then butter (hell, I didn't know what I was doing, and I certainly wasn't going to ask them), and eventually found that ice cubes seemed to reduce the pain a little. It was 42 years ago, and believe me, my sister remembers it much more vividly than me; I'm the one they hated less. When people find out that we've been estranged from our parents for almost 30 years, they occasionally make statements such as, "well, you always have to love and/or forgive your parents." No, not really. The grim nostalgia that we share is that we are each others' only witness.

If you find this unbelievable, congratulations on your good fortune.

Those people are delusional twats that have probably not been on the receiving end and thus have no frame of reference. They just default to their platitudes that usually have very little basis in harsh reality.

Coco LaFemme:/end CSS//thanks for reading///if you abuse your children, do the world a favor and farking kill yourself, you sorry excuse for humanity

Damn. Hope he finds peace. At least you're there for him, and that alone, is pretty impressive.

I've been told by more than a few people over the course of our relationship that he's too damaged, that I deserve someone more put together, but those people can go to hell. I love him. It's as simple as that in my mind.

People like that probably have impaired compassion and empathy, and may be projecting their insecurities on you. Point out that what they are really saying is that someone can be hurt and damaged too much to be loved. They might not like it when you illuminate that what they are suggesting is to hurt the wounded more.

J. Frank Parnell:There is no way to reason with them. Psychologists won't even work with them. The only way you can live a healthy life is to break all contact.

Which is exactly what I did in regards to my stepmother. After my dad finally divorced the crazy biatch we started comparing notes. All those times we were told our real mother didn't want us to make our monthly visit was a lie. She was telling our mother we didn't want to visit and telling us we weren't invited that weekend. Lots of other psychological abuse. Mostly her pitting everyone against everyone. My little sister got it the worse of all. I always had an unlisted phone (after learning my lesson the hard way). The c00nt died alone. An alcoholic to the very end.

That experience was the reason why I refused to lie to adopt my stepdaughter. The law states you need a signed document from the birth parent giving permission unless the birth parent could not be located. My (ex)wife told me to just lie and say he could not be found since he lived in another country. I flat out refused to interfere with my stepdaughter's relationship with her birth father. It was just wrong.

There is nothing heroic about telling the truth about the dead. Cathartic, yes. Heroic, no. If the woman was truly a scumbag, she should be called on it. Blaming to children of an abusive parent does not in any way excuse the filthy, disgusting abuses caused by a pile of s**t human being that could only be called a parent because of some genetic connection.

Kids who have been raised by abusive parents can be excused for all of their weird emotional convolutions associated with their parents. They don't get a pass with respect to everyone else, though.

Scumbags are not made any more noble by dying. Scumbags are not made any more noble by getting old. Asking for forgiveness to get out of proper karma is just weakness or and expectation of weakness in those that are about to deliver proper reckoning.

If there is no God, which to an agnostic is possible, then true vengeance can only be delivered by the living.

Abusing the elderly who during their prime abused the children that they had physical power over is righteous. My best friend in elementary school was abused by his drunken father virtually everyday. I was eating dinner with them once, when the father (during one of the many silent periods that occurred because that is the way children are when they are around drunken abusive parents) reached across the table and started hitting him in the face because he didn't like his attitude - my friend was silently eating his food and staring at his plate. Currently, my friend (in his 40's) is dying of brain cancer. Whenever I get together with his family, during a quiet private period, I kick the walker out from the old man or shove the f**ker over. He will continue to get this treatment until he dies, which I hope is painful. I am not heroic nor moral, but the old f**ker is getting what he deserves. When I was younger, I would not have been able to do it. Now, that his family is older, they are still living in fear of his anger. I do not care what occurred to him in his childhood to all those defense lawyers out there. He has never asked for forgiveness, nor will he ever ask for it. If God ever comes to save him from me, maybe I'll convert.

My boyfriend's father was an abusive prick to him when he was a child; he beat him with extension cords with the plug end striking his skin, to the point where are are scars all over his back, the backs of his arms and legs, his ass....it's horrific. I've met the piece of shiat a few times, and to say he's a piece of shiat is really an insult to feces. We go up to New York over the holidays to visit his family, and we avoid him like the plague, as much as we can.

When his father dies, rather than go to the funeral, we're going to have a nice dinner at home, crack open a bottle of bubbly, and toast to the end of his nightmares, and the beginning of the rest of his life full of decent nights' sleep. I want that more than anything. He'll wake up some nights screaming, shaking in a cold sweat, and there's not a farking thing I can do to help him. I hate feeling that way. He's been to doctors, been on medication (though he loathes taking medication of any kind, even Advil), and none of it has helped. I truly believe that diseased taint finally kicking the bucket is what needs to happen, if only to act as an exorcism of some kind. Adam (that's my boyfriend) is 42 years old...if he's got another 50 years in him let's say, I don't want to spend a total of 63 years (we've been together 13) listening to him crying at night. I would never leave him, but he deserves peace at some point.

/end CSS//thanks for reading///if you abuse your children, do the world a favor and farking kill yourself, you sorry excuse for humanity

Damn. Hope he finds peace. At least you're there for him, and that alone, is pretty impressive.

AverageAmericanGuy:It's called Disconnection, and it attempts to separate an initiate from people that care about him in order to prevent the "bad" influence of those people on him.

It's also something psychologists tell victims to do. The problem with certain mental illnesses is they fool themselves into thinking they are caring parents, or partners, or whatever, and actually believe it. Even if they are wildly abusive, they disassociate from that. They can only see themselves as perfect.

There is no way to reason with them. Psychologists won't even work with them. The only way you can live a healthy life is to break all contact.

I can understand the impulse to write an obit like this. In my experience truly nasty people have a tendency to never admit they did anything wrong and to make themselves the victim when facing the consequences of their bad behavior.

This lady probably made it a full time job to complain about her 6 awful children who never visit her. I know everyone likes to feel sorry for the old lady in the nursing home who no one visits, but if no one in a person's family wants anything to do with them there is usually a reason.

The nasty old still living biatch in my family loves to use social workers to guilt her children into visiting and calling so that she can further the emotional abuse she began when they were young, back when she could still physically abuse them.

They must have gotten so much satisfaction writing that obit and finally getting the last word.

I won't comment on my own life, I have no contribution there.. However, it is a tribute to everyone here who shared your stories that YOU SURVIVED. You went on to realize that what happened was wrong. You are here in some way calling out those who did unspeakable things - and even though its in an anonymous forum it takes exceptional courage to even admit what happened.

It's totally against our societal norms to speak ill of the dead. I've been to services where almost everyone hated the guy and no-one save for a few (who did not speak) treated the decedent kindly while they were alive. Yet everyone spoke glowingly of the person in the casket. Can't stand that sort of thing, so I left.

It did. And not just be a little -- you're miles past the line. The fact that other people had it worse is sad, but it doesn't justify what happened to you. Neither does the fact that he didn't also fail to live up to his financial obligations. And neither does whatever "misbehavior" (if any) brought on the beatings.

Kudos to whoever wrote this obituary. Some people aren't worth the paper it was printed on.

CSS: The day the guy who molested me died in a horrific car accident was one of the best day of my life. Sometimes you can't move on till those who perpetrate abuse against you no longer draw breath on this planet.

For seven years, 6 years old to 13 years old, I existed with this lecherous horror next door. He would wait for my school bus to go by his house and then drive to the back edge of his property where my property was, to wait for me as I walked home. He would lock me in the barn when I thought he wasn't around and went out to do my chores, to molest me in a stall. He would sneak through our house while I was taking a shower after softball practice. He would offer my parents to drive me home from practice, only to take me out to some random cornfield and molest me. SEVEN YEARS I lived looking over my shoulder, taking the long route through the fields and woods home from school, hiding in grain trailers, culverts, woodpiles, and on rooftops. Some days he found me, some days he didn't.

You're probably thinking, "Why didn't she tell her parents?!" I told my parents but for years in their eyes he could do no wrong. He was a deacon at church. He was my grandfather's best friend for the past 40 years. He worked at the coal mine with all of my relatives. For all intents and purposes his family were like family. It only stopped when I was 13 when my dad caught him in our house, dick in hand, masturbating on my bed, after I'd run out of the house buck naked from taking a shower when dad got home early one day. That bastard walked out of our house at gun point and was never invited back.

SEVEN YEARS I had my innocence stolen from me, my trust in men violated, my childhood ruined. Even to this day I've lost that connection that fathers and daughters generally have. I alienated my own father. I alienated my grandfather and my uncles. It took me years to move on to an adult relationship with my now husband, but there's still that emotional baggage that lives with you every single day.

My father is 85, 30 years older than me. During the past 5 decades, he has talked about his father perhaps 3 times, the last when I was 17, and only to relate how he died of cancer.

My grandmother was 102 when she forgot to wake up one morning. For her entire life, she never told anyone her life story, except that her father ran a laundry service for steamships, including (briefly) the Titanic. She immigrated to Canada with Grandfather in 1919.

We believe that the abuse started back in the early 1900's, continued until his death in 1958, a couple of months before I was born. It certainly prompted my father to leave home at the age of 16 and never look back.

Even today, as my father's life draws to a close, he has reservations being close emotionally. I've made it a life mission to be more open and loving to my son, though I question how well I am doing.

Abuse sucks, and goes on for generations, even when the inheritors try to overcome it.

WeenerGord:lohphat: The Pumpkin Eater: WeenerGord: Addicted to Hate: The Fred Phelps Story

Mark Phelps feels nauseated whenever he remembers that night. He was hit over 60 times and his brother, Nate, over 200 with a mattock handle. Nate went into shock. Mark didn't. A boy who became a compulsive counter to handle the stress, Mark counted every stroke. His and Nate's. While their father screamed obscenities and his brother screamed in pain. Every 20 strokes, their mother wiped their faces off in the tub. Nate passed out anyway. That was Christmas Day.

/ just leaving that here

I had to stop reading. That made me physically ill.

Why is Fred Phelps still walking the street after that?

That's what I want to know.

Part of it is the mental illness of the other family members who witnessed the child abuse, but make excuses for it and defend the abuser while joining in on blaming the victim. Phelp's wife and other children saw all this, and participated to some extent, and then the children became lawyers to defend him. They continue to go along on his crazy abusive picketings of funerals, which could be interpreted as his own begging for the beatdown he so richly deserves.

Can anyone explain the mental illness of those family members who continue to lie for and protect the abuser? Are they just glad that it wasn't themselves that got the worst of the abuse? Are they eager to please the abuser so they don't become his next target for the worst of the abuse? Do they want to speak up, but they just don't dare to? Or do they really think that this kind of shiat is "normal" since it is all that they have ever known?

Stockholm syndrome?

believe it or not, you can be cruel and/or in denial and not be mentally ill.

you can simply be an asshole.

you can accept the ways of the world the way they were presented to you, no matter how irrational or inhumane.

the mind adapts in amazing ways.

it is harder to break out of cycles if abuse than to stay in them, even if they are dysfunctional and destructive.

Mark Phelps feels nauseated whenever he remembers that night. He was hit over 60 times and his brother, Nate, over 200 with a mattock handle. Nate went into shock. Mark didn't. A boy who became a compulsive counter to handle the stress, Mark counted every stroke. His and Nate's. While their father screamed obscenities and his brother screamed in pain. Every 20 strokes, their mother wiped their faces off in the tub. Nate passed out anyway. That was Christmas Day.

/ just leaving that here

I had to stop reading. That made me physically ill.

Why is Fred Phelps still walking the street after that?

That's what I want to know.

Part of it is the mental illness of the other family members who witnessed the child abuse, but make excuses for it and defend the abuser while joining in on blaming the victim. Phelp's wife and other children saw all this, and participated to some extent, and then the children became lawyers to defend him. They continue to go along on his crazy abusive picketings of funerals, which could be interpreted as his own begging for the beatdown he so richly deserves.

Can anyone explain the mental illness of those family members who continue to lie for and protect the abuser? Are they just glad that it wasn't themselves that got the worst of the abuse? Are they eager to please the abuser so they don't become his next target for the worst of the abuse? Do they want to speak up, but they just don't dare to? Or do they really think that this kind of shiat is "normal" since it is all that they have ever known?

I've met Nate Phelps a few times and he is the nicest man imagineable. While he does speak of his experiences there and the mattock handle, I don't think that he ever spoke of that incident. I've also been to Topeka and yes, the Phelps clan (at WBC) is just as evil as you would think they are.

Here's what WBC did to a little girl who set up a lemonade stand across the street from their "church".

My dad was the abusive piece of shiat type that seems to be so common. I and my siblings all carry scars - physical, emotional, mental. To add to the fun, he was also an upstanding Christian, an elder at the Kingdom Hall and one of the friendliest and nicest people you could meet (when not behind closed doors). He is also very, very good at playing the repentant sinner on the rare occasions when somebody would start to figure out what he was really like.

Fast forward 30 years - we all escaped the JW's, all but one of us stopped speaking to dad several years ago, and we are just waiting for him to die. My brother and I have already made arrangements and paid for his burial and there will be no funeral service. Pack him in the box, put him in the ground.

We all have our issues - my sister had her tubes tied at 30 to make certain she would never have kids. I had a vasectomy at 26 and would have done so much sooner if I could have found a doctor willing to perform the procedure before I had a child. My brother is, in many ways, a carbon copy of my father. Fortunately, no children for him either. My other sister is trying her best to pretend our childhood never happened.

/CSB

I do know that I can't stand hearing someone say you should forgive your parents anything or that 'blood' is important and you shouldn't sever contact no matter what. Those people are clueless idiots.

Joce678:mofa: When people find out that we've been estranged from our parents for almost 30 years, they occasionally make statements such as, "well, you always have to love and/or forgive your parents." No, not really.

Yep. The hardest part is dealing with all the people who want explanations as to why you aren't going to visit your parents at Xmas. And try to convince you you need to work things out with them ("But they're your parents!").

These days I just lie whenever I see it coming ("Yes, of course I'm going!").

This (and this whole thread, really) reminds me of a quote I picked up many years ago: No one is truly free until they can turn down an invitation to dinner without giving an excuse.

I probably got it a bit wrong, I don't remember who said it, and I don't care enough to look it up - in this case content is more important than precision or attribution. Anyway, keeping that little concept in mind has made it immeasurably easier for me to deal with situations like you describe. If someone gets nosy and it's none of their business, I tell them it's none of their business. Likewise, your reasoning is nobody's business but your own and if you're talking to someone who isn't going to be there when you wake up in the morning what should you care what they think about your decisions? Tell them the truth, tell them nothing, or tell them to fark off - that freedom feels nice.

mofa:When people find out that we've been estranged from our parents for almost 30 years, they occasionally make statements such as, "well, you always have to love and/or forgive your parents." No, not really.

Yep. The hardest part is dealing with all the people who want explanations as to why you aren't going to visit your parents at Xmas. And try to convince you you need to work things out with them ("But they're your parents!").

These days I just lie whenever I see it coming ("Yes, of course I'm going!").

AverageAmericanGuy:BTW, if anyone's actually listening to SpdrJay, this is actually a core Scientology dogma and practice.

It's called Disconnection, and it attempts to separate an initiate from people that care about him in order to prevent the "bad" influence of those people on him.

And it's perfectly valid if the influence is actually bad for you. The only problem in Scientology comes from their manipulation of what is defined as "bad". If they only recommended leaving people who were actually hurting you their advise would be perfectly sound; instead they frequently recommend leaving people who would be bad for the church, regardless of your personal interests.

Though I'd argue the fundamental problem is an expectation that the people who happen to share bits of your DNA are the people to who you should form the closest relationships. "Family" should be the people you choose because of the positive influence they have in your life, not the people that were randomly assigned to you as a consequence of the circumstances of your birth. You have no obligation to your parents, siblings, or anyone else in your "natural family" beyond the same duty you owe all human beings and anyone who tells you otherwise is almost certainly trying to manipulate you for their own selfish purposes. You spent a lot of time with your parents and siblings and whatnot, you share a lot of history, and it's entirely likely that you'll have similar world views and other commonalities. As such you might well want to make them an important part of your social circle. But if you don't there's no shame in it -- you don't have to "cut them out" any more than you cut out the people who live 3 doors down from you, you simply don't force a relationship that you don't want to have.

I have a friend who I hope will celebrate when her dad goes; she got off easier as (supposedly) she is the 'biological' child, but her two adopted sisters are farked up for life from his abuses. It has taken me literally years and years to convince her that just because people in her life are 'blood', it doesn't mean they're worth relating to. Mind you I never wanted to be someone's shoulder for these things, or especially to drive her to avoid them, but I guess she felt I would understand the best since my mom could be a royal biatch at times.

Long story short, I heard a particular voicemail her father left her, and he should never have been allowed authority over another person's life...

SpdrJay:Let me give anyone who needs it some sage advice on dealing with crazy/abusive relatives:

1) REMOVE THEM FROM YOUR LIFE COMPLETELY.

Don't call, don't follow them on Facebook, don't ask other people how they are doing. They are now gone and will stay that way. Forever.

And when the abusers do finally die, you'll hear about it probably years after the fact, and you won't care because they have been out of your life so long it simply doesn't matter.

What these people did isn't really closure, it's just spiteful revenge on someone who'll never know the difference.

This.

When you don't mean anything to them except as an object of abuse, this is the best way to deal with it. So many times people feel that because you are family they can treat you poorly and you'll have to come back so they can do it again because "blood is thicker than water."

NFA:A friend of mine was duped out of a huge inheritance (from his birth family) by his stepfather. He told his stepfather he plans to cremate him and pour his ashes into the septic tank. He WILL do it.

CSB:

My father-in-law recently died. He was cremated. At the memorial, the rev made a reference to this, then, while reassuring the gathering that it was OK to be cremated, said he himself wanted to be cremated and poured down the toilet, so that any time someone wanted to talk to him, they'd have no more than to find the nearest bathroom.

Mark Phelps feels nauseated whenever he remembers that night. He was hit over 60 times and his brother, Nate, over 200 with a mattock handle. Nate went into shock. Mark didn't. A boy who became a compulsive counter to handle the stress, Mark counted every stroke. His and Nate's. While their father screamed obscenities and his brother screamed in pain. Every 20 strokes, their mother wiped their faces off in the tub. Nate passed out anyway. That was Christmas Day.

/ just leaving that here

I wish I hadn't read that in it's entirety, but I couldn't stop. I really hope there is a hell, and that Fred gets his a millionfold. Sick motherfarker.

What a piece of work is a man, how noble in reason, howinfinite in faculties, in form and moving how express andadmirable, in action how like an angel, in apprehension how likea god! the beauty of the world, the paragon of animals-and yet,to me, what is this quintessence of dust? Man delights not me-nor woman neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.

I would venture that the apples don't fall very far from the tree. Her children are spiteful enough to pay for a nasty obituary, but can't be bothered to proofread their drivel.

Maybe the kids aren't abusive, but they aren't heroes.

Why do people always say things like this? Being dead doesn't make any better or worse a person than you were when you were alive. Granted that is a really passive-aggressive way of giving mom a ginormous FU but if we have to hear that every other dead person was the beloved personification of perfection who ought to be beatified, maybe this will help balance that BS out. And while we are at it--don't get all freaking crazy about how your dead person is getting to heaven: Betty Johnson rode a unicorn over the rainbow and through the Milky Way to sit with Jesus and the Beatles.....no she didn't. She just died.

Mark Phelps feels nauseated whenever he remembers that night. He was hit over 60 times and his brother, Nate, over 200 with a mattock handle. Nate went into shock. Mark didn't. A boy who became a compulsive counter to handle the stress, Mark counted every stroke. His and Nate's. While their father screamed obscenities and his brother screamed in pain. Every 20 strokes, their mother wiped their faces off in the tub. Nate passed out anyway. That was Christmas Day.

One day at work, I was talking about buying a case of Milwaukee's Best Ice, drinking it, at pissing on my sister's grave when she died. A coworker chimed in saying that 'when my mother dies, I'm going to flush her ashes down the toilet so she can swim around with all the other turds. But not at my house. I'm gonna do it someplace real special, like Taco Bell.'

A search of Marianne's name suggests that perhaps she is the same Nevada-based Marianne Reddick who, in 1970, testified before the Nevada Equal Rights Commission that the employment agency she ran printed "White Only" on certain referrals so that black people would not mistakenly apply for jobs where they were not welcome.

Assuming she's a real person. There's no other readily available listing for a "Marianne Reddick" in Nevada, so this could be totally bogus.